Not My Type
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Faith and Rodney usually stick to type...but boredom is a funny motivator.


**Disclaimers:** I do not own _Stargate Atlantis_ or _Buffy the Vampire Slayer._  
**Warnings:** Mentions of sex, non-graphic description. A little language, but, for Faith, this is probably pretty PG.  
**A/N:** Not so much a full story as a "what if?" based on a manip I did like a year ago. (Remove spaces in the link if you want to see it: falthee .deviantart. com/art/Rodney-McKay-and-Faith-Lehane-159104942 ) Post series. Hope it puts you in the Valentine's Day mood.

* * *

Her first pick of the evening was evil. Wasn't that always the case? And the second was digging the meat, because of course that's what the big hunky studs seemed to be into these days. And, hell, she could go down the list, but cutting to the chase, the guy she'd ended up with wasn't her type. Nor was he her actual choice.

And it wasn't pity sex. Nah. More like boredom sex.

Damn. Faith snorted. Her life was messed up.

* * *

The conference had nearly put her to sleep. She'd only managed a good twenty minutes of chit-chat before she'd decided to ditch. Wasn't like B actually needed her sister slayer around for meetings with the government up-and-ups, but the two were just starting to get along again, so the blond had given Faith the option of coming with her to DC, since she was the second down the chosen line.

Faith had said no to the invitation. Buffy had gotten pissy. Faith had said yes.

Still, point was, there was no point. For her being there. So Faith decided exploring the city would be fun. It wasn't. But she got back in time for all the Generals and scientists and world leaders to be in the socializing phase of their peace talks/info dump trade-offs. Turned out there was a hall rented at some ritzy hotel. Apparently, halls also equaled open bar.

And that's about when the shit hit the fan.

* * *

"Terrorism?"

"Is that really so hard to believe?" he snapped, in that rapid-fire, gonna-hyperventilate voice Faith had come to associate with him. "If you have a _better_ explanation, Faith I'm-Too-Mysterious-For-a-Last-Name, I would really like to hear it!"

She shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. "Protesters." When he stared blankly at her, she continued. "Of the supernatural variety."

"You can't be serious." He huffed. "_This_ - " And slammed his palm against the invisible force-field keeping them on the bed. " - what exactly could _this_ be in protest of?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "It's symbolic or metaphoric or some shit. You know, your guys and our guys, getting in bed together. Obviously, somebody out there doesn't like the idea and is trying to teach us a lesson."

Rodney's brow wrinkled, as if he was considering the explanation, but he quickly shook his head. Back to giving her the _you're too stupid to exist_ stare. "And how exactly would these 'protesters' know any of us would end up near, much less _in_, each other's beds?"

"Hell, you ended up in mine quickly enough."

Rodney's face flushed. "You pushed me down!"

"You snuck into my room. Peepers get tackled. Rule of thumb."

"I thought I was in the right room! Who leaves their door cracked open like that anyhow?"

Faith raised a brow. Rodney pouted. Because, yes, he'd left his door cracked open exactly the same way. Which was why he'd thought he was entering the right room when he returned from a few doors down.

A whiny, distant sound was coming from somewhere between the pillows, and Faith snatched his cell phone up out of the bedding, realizing he'd left it turned on for the last argument. "Yo, Johnny," she said, holding a hand out to stop Rodney from snatching back his phone. His phone. With his friend on the other end. With whom she was talking to as if she'd known him for a decade.

The members of both parties, who'd not been stuck to their beds, were downstairs. In another meeting. Trying to figure out if this problem was more magic or science. And also trying to pretend that the speed with which a few of their colleagues had shacked up wasn't embarrassing in the least.

"Nah, we're good, Johnny. See you in the morning. Oh, and when you check up on B and her man friend, give them a thumbs up for me."

And Faith disconnected.

Rodney chose to ignore the string of indignation waiting to be unleashed. "Well?" he prodded. "Have they come up with a solution?"

Faith was already stretching out along the length of the bed, one of her bare legs hiked up, and a small smile on her face, like she knew how dry his mouth had gotten at the sight. "Yeah. We're going to ride it out. Our Wiccans say it's just a small time charm. Disappears at sun-rise."

_"Ride it out?" _

And his voice was getting all high again. She'd told John they didn't need any visitors to swing by and keep them entertained, but Faith wasn't sure how much more of the shrieking she could take. 'Course there was another alternative for keeping a man quiet.

"You know, I got an idea of how we can spend the time," she said, her voice low, husky. She curled her leg, letting her knee brush against his thigh. "Unless you can think of something more fun to do."

"I could tell you more about the city of the Ancients?"

Faith tackled him again.

* * *

Faith wanted a t-shirt: I went to DC and all I got was this lousy lay. Only it would be lying, 'cause the lay was anything but lousy. It was damn near topping her list of "most interesting." And something about being stuck in a confined space had made it more exciting, especially when he'd tried to get away, bounced against the invisible wall keeping them on the mattress. Then, he'd succumbed to her violent advances.

And he wasn't bad, especially by the time they got to round three. Smarty Pants was getting his groove by then. Probably a control freak in the lab, she figured, but he learned to give her the bedroom reins quickly enough.

It was too bad really. From the little she'd heard before taking off on her tour, she'd established that he was one of the guys who was regularly off world. Another planet was, unfortunately, too far for the occasional booty-call.

He was passed out beside her by the time the sun rose and the wall fell, but she let him sleep on, staring down at his open mouth and doughy face. He was bruised, probably sore beyond belief, and more drained than a baby vamp's first meal.

Not her type. Not anywhere close. But that wasn't exactly a bad thing.


End file.
